


Murder for Beginners

by rustyliver



Series: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyliver/pseuds/rustyliver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You see, Sameen, like the players, needs a cheerleader too, even if the cheerleader in question is not specifically cheering for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murder for Beginners

Everyday after school she goes to the football field, picks a spot on the bleachers, and opens a book. It's become a habit.

It's not the best place to memorize the respiratory system and the function of each part—she keeps losing her train of thought when she reaches epiglottis—with the coaches yelling at the players and the players grunting at inanimate objects.

And the cheerleaders chanting.

Can't forget that.

She can't even pretend not to know every single one of the school cheers anymore. Nowadays she just lets herself mouth the words as her fingers try to distinguish between her larynx and her trachea, echoing Sam silently.

The voice that makes the noise surrounding it bearable.

The voice that reminds her why she's memorizing a college textbook on anatomy from cover to cover.

You see, Sameen, like the players, needs a cheerleader too, even if the cheerleader in question is not specifically cheering for her.

Sometimes, she'd look up and see Sam watching her, but as soon as their eyes meet, Sam would turn to the other cheerleaders and they would all burst into laughter five seconds later as some not so subtly glance at Sameen.

She gives them a little wave, but her eyes stay on Sam, whose back is on her. One of Sam's friends whispers something to her ear, and her face turns sideways just slightly. It's hard to tell from this distance and that angle, but Sameen swears a smile creeps up on Sam's features for a split second. Then Sameen sees her hands behind her back, the fingers wiggling almost like they're waving back.

Sameen blinks. She's reading too much into it. Or she's imagining it.

It doesn't matter. What matters is the last type of intrinsic laryngeal muscles that is just on the tip of her tongue.

She starts from the top of the list again;

Cricothyroid.

Posterior cricoarytenoid.

Lateral cricoarytenoid.

Transverse arytenoid. And…

She closes her eyes tight, resisting the urge to peek.

"Thyroarytenoid!"

She almost yells it out but manages to reign it in at the last minute and it comes out as an excited whisper.

"I've forgotten how cute you can be."

There is a pair of legs in front of her.

"Shut up," Sameen automatically responds as she looks up. Old habits die hard.

It was back in second grade when Sam started using some variation of the word 'adorable' to describe her, sometime after their annual height measuring when it was discovered that Sam had gained a whole inch on her. Sameen hated it.

Still hates it.

"Not that I'm not flattered," Sam says. "But this has to stop."

"What?"

"What you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"Sameen…" Sam exhales. "Stop playing dumb."

"Oh," Sameen says, glancing down at her book. "Do you want me to stop reading?"

"I want you to stop reading _that_ book."

"But how would I realize my dream of becoming a doctor?"

Sam chuckles. "Well, you'd have to have compassion first," she says. "And we both know, no matter how many books you read, you'll never know what it actually means."

Sameen slams her book close. "I can read whatever the hell I want," she says, stuffing the book into her backpack. The outburst doesn't seem to affect Sam. She remains still in front of Sameen, only shifting as little as she possibly can when Sameen gets up.

"Also," Sam says, holding down Sameen's backpack when she tries to pick it up. "Stop stalking me."

Sameen roughly tugs her bag from underneath Sam's palm, not caring if it hits Sam as she slips her arm into one of the straps and pulls it onto her shoulder.

"You overestimate your value to me," she says.

"My estimate is fine," Sam replies. Her hand brushes against Sameen's, and like some sort of a reflex, Sameen's fingers try to catch it. Sam's lips curl up at the corners.

Sameen frowns, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Whatever,” she mutters, pushing past Sam, and storms off.

But the day after next she’s back on the bleachers with her thick book on human anatomy and physiology. The silence at home is too unbearable. She didn’t even get past a page. But here on the bleachers, she blows through a chapter in only two hours.

Like she said, she can read whatever the hell she wants. Wherever she wants.


End file.
